


Thoughts That Keep Him Awake At Night

by castiel_lightwood



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, TMI - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 14:54:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2697053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castiel_lightwood/pseuds/castiel_lightwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I had a request to write about Alec struggling with himself pre-City of Bones (and not necessarily just his sexuality) (and I really have no idea to title these fics - anyone want to help me out?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thoughts That Keep Him Awake At Night

Alec always knew he'd been different. Even from when he'd been very young, he'd always felt like he didn't fit it, didn't belong.

He stared at himself in the mirror, the white tiles of the bathroom illuminating his face, emphasising the dark shadows under his eyes. He'd been struggling to sleep at all lately, his mind plagued with confusion and growing desperation.

He looked away, trying to escape the boy in the mirror, with his boring floppy black hair, and his translucent skin. He looked ill.

What if it was the sickness in his heart and his mind seeping through into his appearance? What if this was his body's way of telling him?

It made sense. Jace was golden inside and out, he was perfect -

Alec pressed his forehead against the sink rim, doubled over, his eyes closed. He couldn't think about Jace. Not now, not ever. Not like that.

But if Jace didn't love him, who would? Who could possibly love him if his own parabatai didn't? They were the perfect match, brothers in arms, and yet, and yet -

Alec groaned in frustration, trying to fight back angry and confused tears. He was a warrior and warriors didn't cry. Not over stupid, trivial things like love.

He'd always had to be the strong one, the one who held it all together, who didn't cry when they heard news of family friends injured or killed, the one who explained to Izzy and Max why their father wasn't coming home again. He was the older brother to protect Izzy, Jace and Max. That had been his purpose, the first thing he thought about when he woke up in morning and the last thing he thought about when he finally fell asleep at night.

And it seemed he'd failed that too. Jace and Izzy didn't need him to protect them, they did a good enough job themselves, and they'd be offended if he suggested otherwise.

And Max - Max had Jace as his older brother. The way Mac looked up to Jace, by the angel, the hero worship in his eyes, it made Alec's heart burn with jealousy.

But he understood it. How could he ever compete with Jace? They were parabatai but he always knew he needed Jace more than Jace needed him.

And it wasn't just because he (he allowed himself to think it) loved Jace that he felt like this. Jace was so strong, so completely sure of himself and who he was - the complete opposite to Alec. So he clung onto Jace, latched onto him like a drowning man clings to driftwood, hoping that somehow Jace would keep him afloat, keep him from drowning in himself.

A cold laugh escaped him. Which was clearly working. There was obviously nothing wrong with him at all.

He could feel the constant burning shame inside him building. He'd always had it, for as long as he'd realised that he only loved boys - which was the same as saying his whole life. Being gay made everything so hard - he was constantly fighting with the age old stereotypes, both from the clave and his own family. And his own shame. Why couldn't he be like everyone else for once? Why couldn't he just be straight, like Jace and Izzy - his sister was a wild card but at least she was into guys. His parents would probably be happy to come home and find him making out with a girl on the sofa. Ir would prove to them that he was normal, put aside the fear that he knew they both must have about him.

Or maybe he was just being paranoid. Maybe his parents didn't even think about his sexuality. He wasn't sure what would be worse - them thinking about him constantly or not thinking about him at all.

He splashed water onto his face, and dried himself with the sleeve of his long black sweater. It was getting a bit holey - but he hated shopping for clothes and it wasn't so bad yet that he'd have to throw it away. He refused to buy any clothes that were in any way tight fitting or "pretty". He wouldn't let people stereotype him for being gay.

He threw one more glare at the boy in the mirror and went through to his bedroom. He stripped and pulled on holey pyjama bottoms and a baggy t shirt, before throwing himself onto his bed. He closed his eyes and prepared for another sleepless night, alone except for his own spiraling desperate thoughts.


End file.
